


Wait for It

by olivebranchesandredwine



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Drunken Flirting, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Singing, Snow, They like musicals ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivebranchesandredwine/pseuds/olivebranchesandredwine
Summary: AU where David didn't kiss Patrick after his birthday dinner, so now it's winter and they're just idiots pining for each other, until a snowstorm turns a quick vendor trip until an unplanned overnight.





	1. Wait for It

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [kiranerys42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42) in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> David doesn't kiss Patrick on grad night, so they don't start dating. Instead, the sexual tension just continues to build while neither one makes the first move. Months later, they're driving...somewhere...maybe they need to visit a vendor who lives several hours away? They get caught in a snow storm, and have to stay at a hotel for the night. Insert "and there was only one bed" trope here.
> 
> Extra special thank you to [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing), who helped me immensely throughout the process, and gave me virtual head pats when I was overwhelmed. 
> 
> And for [kiranerys42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42), I hope you like the music choices.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mutually pining business partners Patrick and David head out for a vendor pickup in a snowstorm.

“Are your sure you have everything you need, David?” Patrick teased as David put the second bag of snacks into the back seat of the car, flashing that gorgeous smile across the roof of the car. “After all, we _are _going to be gone for nearly six hours. I wouldn’t want you to starve.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m doing you a favor. You don’t want to see me get hangry on a road trip.” David’s mouth quirked into an easy, lopsided grin, settling into the comfortable banter that had become so familiar over the last eight months. He closed the back door and moved to open the passenger door.

“In that case, I humbly thank you for your generosity,” Patrick made an exaggerated bow and winked at David before he into the driver’s seat. That mischievous fire in his eyes felt downright flirtatious, and made David’s stomach jump. He stood there with the door open, squeezed his eyes shut, and sucked in a deep breath. For the zillionth time in the last several months, he willed himself _not _to think about his business partner like that.

David got into the car and closed the door, taking a few moments to get safely buckled in before settling into his seat, angling his body slightly toward Patrick in what had become his go-to road trip posture. They’d take many of these little vendor excursions over the past several months, and by now, his body was working from muscle memory, turning toward Patrick as though he were David’s True North. Together, they’d logged countless hours in Patrick’s car, playing Bury the Cow or Car Trip Bingo, brainstorming ideas for community events at the Apothecary, arguing about what constituted an appropriate soundtrack for a road trip with your business partner. Because that’s what they were. Business partners. Who were friendly with each other. Nothing more.

While the car warmed up, Patrick fumbled with his phone, pulling up his music app. It was Patrick’s turn choose the playlist today, so David was steeling himself for yet another round of generic rock befitting a business major who lived in mid-range denim. Granted, David had to admit, Patrick was _very _cute when he got caught up in talking about his favorites, like the time he’d rambled nonstop about the Tragically Hip when they drove back from Elmdale. And, ok, though he wouldn't admit it to Patrick because the _smugness..._David did actually like the carefully curated selection of the Hip songs Patrick had shared with him. 

David found himself willing to put up with a lot of things about Patrick that would normally turn his stomach. Not just that…David realized that he was even starting to see the appeal in those _incorrect _things. Especially when they made Patrick grin.

_Ugh_, David needed to get out of his head. Six hours in close quarters with the friendly but clearly very not-interested business partner he had a crush on was going to be hellish if he couldn’t. He rested the side of his head against the cold window and shivered, only partially a result of the biting cold. Patrick looked up from his playlist as David crossed his arms and rubbed along his biceps.

“Oh, I’ve got something for you,” Patrick reached into the backseat and grabbed a neatly folded, well-worn plaid blanket, which he then handed to David. “Didn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said with a soft smile.

David’s eyes widened as he reached for the blanket, “Thank you, Patrick,” he breathed. Yet again, David found himself floored by one of Patrick’s small gestures of kindness. Of friendship. David wasn’t used to that. To people doing nice things without an agenda. And every time Patrick did it, he felt his heart crack open just a little more.

_He’s just my business partner._

David spread the blanket out and snuggled in. The blanket smelled like Patrick. Maybe he’d close his eyes for just a little while, let himself imagine something more. He started to doze.


	2. On My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David wakes from his road trip nap to learn something new about his business partner's taste in music. Gratuitous references to the author's favorite showtunes ensue.

Sometime later, David couldn’t say for sure how long he’d been napping, he woke to the sound of Patrick singing along to the radio, to a song that was most definitely _not_ the music David had come to expect on these trips. 

_Love doesn't discriminate_  
_Between the sinners_  
_And the saints_  
_It takes and it takes and it takes_  
_And we keep loving anyway._  
_We laugh and we cry and we break_  
_And we make our mistakes._  
_And if there's a reason I'm by her side_  
_When so many have tried_  
_Then I'm willing to wait for it.  
_ _I'm willing to wait for it._

David’s brain couldn’t decide which information to process first: that Patrick was singing along to a song from _Hamilton, _or that Patrick was _singing. _And his voice….it was _good. _More than good. David was grateful that he’d burrowed so deeply into Patrick’s blanket as he slept, because it meant that Patrick hadn’t noticed him wake up. David closed his eyes and let himself reminisce about his last days in New York before everything fell apart, back when it was just a little off Broadway show he’d been dragged to see, and how he'd flirted so shamelessly backstage and hooked up with a couple of cute actors afterward. If it weren’t so tragic, he might even laugh at how much things had changed. But things were different now; _he _was different. He’d left that life behind, and was doing all he could to create a new one for himself in rural Ontario. With a deep exhale, David let the memory go blurry in his mind so that he could just listen, letting the emotion of the song, of Patrick’s voice, wash over him.

_I am the one thing in life I can control_  
_I am inimitable I am an original  
_ _I'm not falling behind or running late_

Patrick’s voice cracked, like he was choking back tears, for some reason. David surreptitiously peeked out from his blanket nest to investigate, and was shocked to realize that the one eye he could see from his hiding spot was glassy, and that Patrick was blinking rapidly. 

_I'm not standing still  
_ _I am lying in wait_

As much as David wanted to stay in his little blanket bubble, enjoying the sound of Patrick’s buttery voice, he didn’t want to let his business partner—no, his _friend_—wallow in a sad song spiral, if that’s what was happening. He shifted in his seat, loosing an exaggerated yawn, and stretched his arms. Startled, Patrick reached to turn the music down, quickly regaining his composure. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” He was still blinking rapidly to quell the tears, but David chose to follow his lead and pretend he didn’t notice.

As he pulled the blanket away from his face, David was met with a wash of white; the delicate flurries coming down as they had left Schitt’s Creek had been replaced with an intense vortex. Just thinking about all the snow outside sent a shiver up David’s spine. He shifted in his seat so that he could stay snuggled up in the warmth of the blanket.

“I was…I had the strangest dream, though. I was being serenaded by Aaron Burr,” David raised an eyebrow, smirking as he noticed the flush spreading across Patrick’s cheeks.

“Oh, um…uh, you heard that?” he started, shyly. “Yeah, um…I— I like musicals. Sometimes I just get carried away and sing along. I like to sing.”

“I liked hearing you sing,” David responded, voice quiet and sincere. Patrick gave David a bashful grin and squirmed a bit in his seat. _Enough of this genuine human emotion_, David thought to himself, and continued, “and this is quite the improvement over the Coldplay and John Mayer wannabesI’ve come to expect from you.” Patrick chuckled at the gentle prodding, and David was pleased to see some of the tension leaving his shoulders. For a moment, David wondered if there was any possible way reaching over to rub the back of Patrick’s neck could be something a business partner would do.

“I can queue up Nickelback’s Greatest Hits, if you’d prefer,” Patrick grinned at him, and _there _he was, the playful, possibly flirtatious Patrick that David had grown to lo—…appreciate as a business partner.

Dammit. Why did David let himself fall for his button-face business partner?

_I hope you're happy_  
_I hope you're happy now_  
_ I hope you're happy how you_  
_ Hurt your 'cause forever_  
_ I hope you think you're cleve_r

A familiar tune caught David’s attention, and he reached to turn the volume up. “Oh, I love this song! The whole show, really!”

“Me too!”

Both men glanced at each other, a bit hesitantly, but quickly broke out into silly grins. As Galinda and Elphaba’s voices came together, so did theirs.

_So though I can't imagine how  
I hope you're happy right now_

For the next five minutes, David and Patrick lost themselves in the music, defying gravity loudly and joyfully (and, at least in David's case, slightly off-key), their voices cracking on the high notes. They giggled together in the interludes, belted out the chorus into the invisible microphone David held between them. David wanted to commit the goofy, contented look on Patrick’s face as they sang to memory, memorialize it in art, get it tattooed across his chest. He wanted to bottle the feeling in this moment and keep it safe forever, a precious reminder that he’d once had this bliss. The only thing that could make it even better was if he wasn’t having all these stupid _feelings_ for someone who could never possibly reciprocate.

As “Defying Gravity” faded into the opening refrain of “Seasons of Love” on what was apparently the Idina Menzel portion of Patrick’s Broadway playlist, David leaned his head back and closed his eyes, barely registering Patrick’s wistful little smile as he glanced over at his breathless passenger. Soon, they’d settled back into a familiar silence, Patrick’s focus on the road ahead of them, while David took in the increasingly snowy landscape whipping past them. And maybe dozed off, just a little.

“Oh!” David’s eyes flew open when he remembered that he had packed snacks. With no explanation, he reached into the back, unsuccessfully grabbing for one of his bags. He gave an exasperated huff, and then leaned his whole upper body closer to the driver’s seat, turning so that he could see what he was doing, oblivious to Patrick’s startled expression or the flush creeping along the tops of his ears as David’s shoulder brushed against his arm.

After rooting around for a bit, David returned to his seat with a triumphant “Ha!” He tossed abag of chips into the center console, then tore open a pack of Reese’s Pieces. “Want some?” offering first dibs to Patrick, who held out his cupped hand so that David could shake the candy into it. “I can’t guarantee I won’t finish the rest, so make sure you get all you want now,” David smirked and encouraged Patrick to take a second handful before resting back into his seat to enjoy his snack.

Meanwhile, they continued to listen to Patrick’s showtunes playlist, which seemed surprisingly heavy on unrequited love songs. As they drove deeper into the storm, “Frank Mills” faded into Mary Magdalene faded into Eponine, and Patrick quietly sang along to every song. It was sweet, really, to see how deeply into the songs Patrick got, David thought, noticing Patrick’s voice choke up a bit around the emotional climax of “On My Own.”

_I love him_  
_ But every day I'm learning_  
_ All my life_  
_ I've only been pretending_  
_ Without me_  
_ His world will go on turning_  
_ A world that's full of happiness_  
_ That I have never known_

When Lea Salonga’s voice faded at the close of the song, David reached to turn the radio off;Patrick had a death grip on the steering wheel and clearly needed all his focus for driving. They’d already been on the road for four hours and still hadn’t made it to the vendor, a drive that should’ve taken less than 3 hours.

“Is everything ok?” Patrick sounded anxious, darting quick glances toward David.

“Yeah. I just thought it might be easier to concentrate on the traffic conditions without the distraction.”

“Thank you, David.” They continued on in companionable silence, and David was pleased to see Patrick’s shoulders relax and his grip on the steering wheel loosen after a few minutes.

_Bzzzz. Bzzzz._ David checked the incoming message. 

“SHIT!”

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked.

“Apparently the storm’s even worse past Pine Ridge. Tom and Kyle have lost power at the studio and don’t know when it’s going to be back,” David sighed, dramatically.

"Ooooh-kay?” Patrick questioned, clearly trying to coax more of an explanation out of him.

“They want to reschedule the pick up for next week!” David huffed, rather pleased with himself that he bit off the curt “o_bviously” _at the end of his answer, though he wasn't able to stop his irritated wave of his hand.

“Oh _Oh.” _Patrick wasn’t very quick on the uptake today, but David had to cut him some slack. He’d been driving in white-knuckle conditions for the last few hours, and it wasn’t getting better. “In that case…um, David? Would you be ok with an unplanned overnight?” David eyed Patrick closely, noticing the tension in his jaw. He could only imagine how stressful it must be to drive in this sort of weather.

“Sure. Let’s stop at the next exit.” At David’s response, Patrick let out a shaky breath, clearly relieved at the prospect of getting out of the blizzard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the songs mentioned in this fic, in order of appearance, can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7CAvfTDR62Refz3vRz2JWG).


	3. Never Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snowstorm has turned into a blizzard, and the boys have to take refuge at a roadside motel. And, uh-oh, the only room left at the inn has _just one bed_. What ever will these boys do?
> 
> CW: Drinking and drunkenness happen in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So "Never Surrender" may not be the most obvious of mid-80s Canadian song choices, but after watching Future Man, I've been on a Corey Hart kick, so there ya go.

Five stops and nearly two hours later, Patrick and David finally found a place with a vacancy. Apparently everyone and their brother just happened to be traveling through southern Ontario. Phone lines were busy, and places were booked to capacity.

As the two men trudged through the snow to their room, David grinned to think of how pleased his dad must be at another sold out night at the Rosebud. And he was grateful that they’d been able to snag the last open room for 60 miles at the Elm Springs Motor Court. It was turning into white-out conditions, and nobody wants to be driving in that. Poor Patrick still looked shaken.

By the time David reached the room, Patrick had unlocked the door. They both sighed in relief as they stepped inside, and then laughed at the coincidence. It had been a long day on the road, and they both needed to decompress.

Patrick fumbled along the wall for the light switch, and when he flipped it, both men just stood there, gaping.

“The guy at the desk said it was a double room, didn’t he?” Patrick rubbed his hand along the back of his head, a flush rising along the back of his neck. David felt his own cheeks burn in what he wished was only sympathetic discomfort, but realistically knew was embarrassment that he was making Patrick uncomfortable.

“I didn’t think to ask,” David said, sheepishly. “When he said they had one room left, I just took it. I’m sorry.”

Patrick’s eyes were a bit frantic, as he looked everywhere _except _where David was standing and interrupted himself several times. “I…we could see if they have one of those cots, maybe? Or I could just sleep on the floor—” OK, and while _yes, _flustered, blushing Patrick was cute, this was a bit much. How _no homo _was he going to be? David decided to play it off for humor, even if it did sting to see Patrick so desperately want to avoid sharing the bed.

David lifted the corner of his mouth in his signature smirk. “If you’re such a bedhog that you wouldn’t be able to stay on your side of a full-sized bed, then by all means, track down a cot,” he teased, quirking an eyebrow at Patrick. 

“Oh, no—I mean, you don’t need to…well, um. OK. I guess we’re both reasonable adults. We can share the bed. That is, if you’re comfortable with that,” Patrick looked down toward his feet as he spoke, bashfully glancing up through his lashes.

_Dammit_, David thought. _That look is not fair. _He felt his knees go a little weak, his face soften into a gentle smile. _Shit. _He needed a distraction—something, anything to break the tension in the room, to take his mind off following the line of Patrick’s neck beneath his button-up shirt to see just how far down that flush went.

“But before I can sleep I need to eat. Let’s go check out the diner.” David turned on his heel and headed for the door, trusting that Patrick would follow behind him.

Both men were grateful the diner attached to the motel was still open, seeing as how their three hour tour was shaping up to be a snowy Gilligan’s Island, and David had finished off almost everything he’d packed in his snack bags (only the emergency licorice remained). And, from the crowd of people standing in the entryway, it was clear that every other motel patron had the same idea.

After nearly 45 minutes of waiting, they were finally seated at a small half-booth on the side closest to the grill. There was a tabletop jukebox that apparently hadn’t been updated in decades, a nostalgic homage to the best Canada had to offer the mid-80s. David scowled as he flipped through Bryan Adams and Corey Hart and more Anne Murray songs than he knew existed. Not a diva to be found. Not even early Celine.

Patrick watched in amusement as David’s face grew more disgusted with each page.With a fond grin, he inserted a coin and pushed B13, and then flat out cackled at David’s abject horror when Corey Hart started to sing.

“This is a classic, David,” he teased, before harmonizing with the tinny, muffled chorus.

_So if you're lost and on your own_  
_You can never surrender_  
_And if your path won't lead you home  
_ _You can never surrender_

David felt his face going soft, and struggled to bite back the smile, even though he knew better than to mistake Patrick’s teasing for flirting. He’d learned his lesson. David knew it was pointless to hope, to dream even, that Patrick could ever reciprocate his feelings. Any chance of that had flown out the window all those months ago on his birthday. There had been a moment in the car, when it looked like Patrick might have wanted him, might have been about to kiss him. He sometimes fantasized about how different things could’ve been, if Patrick had leaned in when David did. If he had actually had the nerve to bridge the distance himself and kiss Patrick. At least then David would’ve had the memory of one kiss with his button-up business partner. _But at what cost? _David reminded himself that what they were building with the store was bigger than a stupid schoolboy crush, and having Patrick by his side was worth the sacrifice. 

But still, teasing or not, Patrick looking into his eyes as he sang just did things for David. So while Patrick serenaded him with a somehow goofy _and _soulful “Never Surrender,” David shrugged his shoulders, as if doing so would somehow spin a web around him, something to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak.

“That’s nice, but could we please order now?” David mustered as much Old David haughtiness as he could manage, and turned his focus to the menu. Patrick quickly stopped singing. “OK, David,” he replied, quietly, looking down at his own menu, daring only the occasional glance in David’s direction.

Once they’d ordered—David was in a breakfast for dinner kind of mood and got pancakes; Patrick ordered poutine—they talked business until their drinks came. Well, drink. David had wanted hot cocoa with marshmallows, but Patrick convinced him to share the ridiculous fishbowl-sized margarita advertised on the specials board. David’s eyebrows had traveled to his hairline when Patrick suggested it, but after noticing all the fishbowls on the tables around them, he decided to throw caution to the wind. Besides, a little tequila would probably take the edge off when they got back to the room.

And so the two of them made their way through an honest-to-god goldfish bowl full of a surprisingly not-terrible margarita, talking shop until they were too tipsy to focus, and getting increasingly giggly as the water line dipped lower and lower in the bowl.

By the time their food arrived, both men were happily buzzed and, unless David was drunkenly projecting, _both_ flirting more brazenly. When he tried to sneak a fry from Patrick’s poutine, Patrick had grabbed him by the wrist, and rather than swatting David away, he brought David’s hand up to his mouth and bit the fry out of his fingers. _What_, David couldn’t help but wonder, _in the actual fuck?_ And the _look _on Patrick’s face as David dipped his finger into the whipped cream atop his pancakes and licked it off? His button-up business partner was giving off some decidedly _unprofessional_ vibes tonight, and David was fucking _here_ for that.

As they made their way back to the room after dinner, it seemed like Patrick was walking_ just this side_ of too close. Apparently Drunk Patrick wasn’t big on the concept of personal space. His shoulder kept bumping against David’s bicep as they walkEd, forearm brushing against forearm. For a fraction of a second, it kind of reminded David of the move he’d tried as a teenager when he wanted to hold hands with Kira as they’d walked out of Biology. The memory made him chuckle; in no universe would a grown man be that un-suave.

“Whasso funny?” Patrick slurred, looking up at him with the widest, gooiest eyes David could imagine. Patrick reached into his coat pockets and fumbled for the room key, never taking his eyes off David’s. He pulled out the tacky green plastic key fob and gave David a broad, accomplished smile.

David grinned at him, fondly, and shook his head a little, “Nothing in particular.” He bit his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing aloud as he watched Patrick struggle to get the key into the lock. When he turned the key Patrick again looked up at David with that sweet, proud smile, and it made David’s heart ache. If only he could lean down and kiss him. _God he wanted to kiss him. _Patrick’s eyes fluttered toward David’s lips for the briefest of moments—_oh my god is he going kiss me—_and then Patrick was stumbling into the room and the moment was gone. Again.

David took a sharp inhale, and gave himself a little pep talk.

It’s just one night.

You can do this.

David followed Patrick into the room, and proceeded to be hit in the face with a blue button-up shirt. He quickly turned his head away (and, ok, really _tried_ not to peek through his fingers) as Patrick unbuckled his belt and started to push his pants down.

“David?” Patrick called out, sounding a little confused and a _lot _drunk, “M'stuck. Help.” When David turned back toward him, he saw Patrick lying ass-up on the floor in crumpled heap, his pants bunched and twisted around his hiking boots.

Before it even occurred to him to wonder how dirty the carpet was, David was on his knees, untying Patrick’s bootlaces and helping him out of his pants. And thanking the universe that he’d had enough of that fishbowl to put a damper on his already too-interested dick. Once Patrick was freed from the tangled pants trap, he wrapped his arms around David’s neck. “Thank you, David,” he murmured, again with the gooey eyes, but quickly shifted gears, unwrapping his arms and instead brought his hands to David’s shoulders. “Help me up,” he demanded, pressing himself to stand using David for support.

OK, so Drunk Patrick is uninhibited and bossier than sober Patrick, David was coming to realize, slower than he would have had _he _not been almost as drunk as his partner. And, you know, _minutely_ aware that said business partner was now clad only in a tight undershirt and a pair of boxer briefs. While he processed everything—more precisely, tried to _avoid _processing everything—with his own margarita-clouded head, David remained kneeling at the foot of the bed, eye to eye, so to speak, with Patrick’s dick, Patrick’s hands still resting on his shoulders. _Fuck._

“Yer so beautiful,” Patrick drawled, tracing along David’s jaw with one fingertip. “Why are you so beautiful?” Patrick watched with a tender little smile as David unwittingly lean into his touch.

David forced himself to laugh, hoping like hell that it came off as light and breezy. He reached for Patrick’s hand, the one currently cupping his jaw, and used it for support as he stood up.

“I think it’s time for you to drink some water and sleep it off,” he sassed, shoving past Patrick and toward the washroom. He returned holding two glasses of water, and handed one to Patrick as he took a sip from his own glass. “Drink it all, and then you can go to sleep.”

“OK, David,” Patrick drank his water in big gulps, eyes never leaving David’s face. _This man may be the death of me. _Patrick tugged the blankets down and crawled into bed. Within minutes, he was passed out, his face pressed against the mattress in between the pillows, doing his best impression of a giant starfish.

_Bedhog_, David rolled his eyes, and headed into the bathroom. He definitely needed to, um, unwindbefore he’d be able to sleep so close to, well, _that. _He was already so worked up from the whole damn day that part of him just wanted to jerk one out as quickly as possible. However, since it wasn’t like Patrick was waiting for a turn, David decided to take his time in the shower, allowed himself to move at a languid pace. He let his fingers tease between his cheeks, gently pressing against his hole as he slowly worked his other hand up and down his cock. When he eventually fell over the edge, he had to bite his lip to keep quiet, to keep that “Patrick” from escaping his lips.

The shower helped, but David grimaced at the thought of the same day’s clothes back on to his now clean body. But over the past couple years,David reminded himself, he’d gotten much better at handling unpleasant things. He got back into his boxer briefs and t-shirt, and then made his way to the bed, where Patrick was now snoring soundly.

After a bit of coaxing, David managed to get Patrick mostly onto his own pillow. He turned onto his side, as far away from his sleeping business partner as he could get, and waited for sleep to take him.

He waited a long time.


	4. You Matter to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys wake up in a rather compromising situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, y'all. The culmination of the TROPE. And forgive my liberties, but I think the extra months of pining + this particular situation would lead our sweet little button-face to move a bit faster than his canon counterpart.

When David awoke, he was being strangled by an octopus. A button-faced, half-naked octopus.

David was no longer coiled into a safe, tiny ball on the far side of the bed. No, he was now sprawled out with Patrick curled into him, their arms and legs tangled together. David’s palm was underneath Patrick’s shirt, splayed out across the small of his back. Patrick, arm wrapped tight around David’s waist, snored softly, his face tucked into the space where neck and shoulder met, his breath warm and wet against David’s skin.

Patrick’s body felt so good against his, solid and warm and perfect, all soft skin and firm muscle wrapped around him. It felt intimate, more right than anything in David’s entire life. And it was terrifying. David was paralyzed, afraid that the tiniest movement would make the moment vanish, send his skittish business partner running for the hills. He’d been so worried about sharing the bed, and clearly, with good reason. 

David tried not to think about what he felt pressing against his hip, about how Patrick’s thigh was resting against his own half-hard dick. He thought of the most unsexy things he could imagine. _Johnny talking about sex…Roland Schitt eating potato salad._

Patrick let out the sexiest little whimper and started rolling his hips. _Fuck. _So much for only being half-hard. This was going to beawkward.

“David,” Patrick mouthed against David’s neck, lips warm and wet, his tongue teasing. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _David gasped; he couldn’t control it.

Patrick startled, suddenly absolutely still. Both men lay there in stunned, uncertain silence for minutes that seemed like hours, neither sure what to say or do.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Patrick’s voice was breathy, anxious.

David squeezed his eyes closed and whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

Patrick’s sharp inhale echoed in David’s ears, “What….David…why…are you sure?”

Mustering all the courage he could, David opened his eyes and met Patrick’s gaze. “I…um…I’ve wanted this for months.” His confession was rewarded with one of his favorite Patrick smiles—that small tilt of his lips blossoming into a wide grin that threatened to split his whole face in two. “Really? Because I have, too.”

Patrick’s gaze flickered to David’s lips. David wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice—three times, if you count the moment at the room door tonight. He reached his free hand out and pulled Patrick’s head in close. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and then pressed a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips. They grinned dopily at each other as they pulled back. “And we’re both idiots.”

They giggled as they leaned back in for another kiss, chaste and gentle, the delicate brush of lips a stark contrast to their bodies, a hot tangle of naked limbs and barely contained arousal.Patrick rolled his hips, his clothed erection dragging against David’s hip, eliciting a reedy whine and emboldening David to tease the tip of his tongue across the seam of Patrick’s lips. 

Patrick parted his lips with a low moan, and David’s tongue thrust into his mouth eagerly, tasting, teasing, exploring.

“Oh god, David,” Patrick groaned into his mouth, and then he was kissing back, tongue pushing against David’s, forcing its way into David’s mouth. That gentle kiss transformed into something filthy, needy, tongues dancing together, lips and teeth crashing as both men sought to get deeper, further, _more. “_Please,” Patrick whimpered, grinding himself harder against David, “please…more.”

_Fuck_. Hearing Patrick begging sent whatever rational part of David’s brain was left temporarily offline. He slid the hand splayed on Patrick’s lower back over to his hip, smiling when Patrick hissed as his fingernails dragged and marked the pale skin, and brought his other hand to Patrick’s shoulder. In a fluid motion, he rolled them over.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasped when he pressed his hard length down against Patrick’s own, wrapped his arms and legs around David and worked to pull him closer closer _closer _with every limb, heels pushing into David’s ass, fingernails making crescents into David’s back. And holy motherfucking _god_, hearing that word coming from Patrick made David’s dick even harder.

“You feel so good,” David purred against Patrick’s chin before fucking his tongue back into that gorgeous mouth. “Wanna make you come.” Patrick only whined in response, his hips thrusting up, chasing more friction between their clothed cocks.

“More,” Patrick grunted around David’s tongue, unwilling to part even the slightest bit from the kiss. “More now.” It was David’s turn to hiss as Patrick scratched trails down David’s back, sliding his hands into the waistband of his briefs, “Can I—mmmm…” A sinful moan choked off the question as Patrick dug his nails into the flesh of David’s ass, pulling their cocks closer together, “Mmm….off off off.” Patrick's demand turned nonsensical chant as he rocked his hips faster against David, unable to tear his hands away from David’s bare skin to push down the offending clothing.

David came to his senses long enough to lift himself up onto his knees, forcing Patrick to unwrap his legs. He shivered at the needy little sound Patrick made at the loss of contact, gasped when it turned into a sexy growl as David shoved his pre-come soaked briefs down his thighs. “You too?” he asked, his tongue tracing along the shell of Patrick’s ear. “Mmmmm,” Patrick just hummed and tugged his own boxer briefs down as quickly as possible, then pulled David back down.

“_Fuck, _David,” Patrick actually fucking _shouted _as David’s cock slid against his own for the first time, “fuck oh fuck oh fuck” and it was the sexiest sound David had ever heard. Patrick’s head was thrown back against the pillow, his eyes closed as he babbled a litany of _fuck _and _please _and _David _and _more _and it felt good, so good, their cocks gliding against each other. All those months of wanting and hoping and doubting dissolved into hot bodies writhing against each other, hips rocking and grinding and rolling as they each moved closer to climax.

David licked a hot line up Patrick’s neck, sucked on a spot behind his ear. “So gorgeous. You’re so beautiful. I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered into Patrick’s ear.

“Oh god, _David,_” Patrick cried out, _“God!” _and then Patrick wrapped himself tightly around David’s body again, moving with an artless, furious rhythm.

“I’m gonna come!” and before the words made their way out of his mouth Patrick was spurting hot white ribbons between them, in and on the shirts neither had bothered to remove, spurring David on. After only a few more thrusts, while Patrick was still shuddering through the aftershocks of his own orgasm, David joined him, adding his own release to the hot and sticky mess between them.

They held each other tightly, sweat-slicked foreheads pressed together, panting shared breath into each other’s mouths, for the eternity it took them to come down. David eventually rolled off, rested his head on the pillow next to Patrick’s. They lay there in stunned silence.

“Regrets?” David grimaced at the ceiling, afraid to make eye contact with his come-covered, half-naked business partner. _Aren’t there always regrets?_

“No. No, no, no. No regrets. I feel good,” Patrick murmured, reaching out a hand to slide his fingers between David’s. “I feel better than I have in a long time.”

“Are there…do you— do _you _have regrets?” Suddenly Patrick sounded so unsure, the desperation palpable in his quavery voice. It was a sound that Patrick should never make because Patrick was sweet and kind and so smart and beautiful and David wanted to kiss that desperation away forever. He brought their hands up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to Patrick’s knuckles. Patrick turned onto his side, brought his free hand to caress David’s stubbled jaw. 

“No regrets. The opposite of regrets,” David was rewarded with one of Patrick’s brilliant wide smiles, and it warmed him up from head to toe.

“In that case,” Patrick continued, “I’m _very_ glad the snowstorm could make this happen for us.” And he leaned in close for another kiss, followed by another, and another. They kissed and whispered and giggled, Patrick snuggled in tight to David’s side, until they both drifted back to sleep.


End file.
